


find a better place

by Kaynara



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Power Imbalance, Pre-Canon, Secret Samol 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaynara/pseuds/Kaynara
Summary: Crysanth Kesh has always been difficult to work for. And she always will be.One mission of many that Sovereign Immunity takes while he's hers.
Relationships: Crysanth Kesh and Sovereign Immunity, Crysanth Kesh/Sovereign Immunity
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	find a better place

**Author's Note:**

> my secret samol 2020 for gabe!!!! i love the divorced energy between crysanth and si in the show, i love writing emotionally repressed relationships, i love weird flirting. i hope you enjoy!!

Crysanth Kesh does not bother to look up when he enters her office. The door shuts with a whisper behind him, and she speaks exactly as it settles into place, as if she had been waiting for her cue.

“Finally. The day is _wasting_ , Sovereign Immunity.”

This does not require a response, and he is not granted the time to make one. He had arrived precisely on time for their usual morning meeting, but from the looks of it Crysanth has been here at least an hour already. 

“There is a negotiation occurring ten standard days from now, between Stels Kesh and Nideo, for a transfer of a small portion of our material holdings on the moon of Partizan, in exchange for their intelligence on a new faction making waves there. The deal is going down in Orion space, the Catarine system to be exact. I’m letting Nideo deal with the logistics of the meeting, this time.”

He appreciates her disdain for small talk in the early mornings. The last assignment he had been on, he had been expected to have breakfast and make polite conversation with the family every day before the focus was permitted to turn to anything more professional. It was pleasant in some ways, perhaps, but having to put on that performance day in and day out had been exhausting.

“This doesn’t sound like the kind of transaction you would normally involve yourself in, Your Majesty.”

She cuts her gaze across at him, but he doesn’t blink. It’s too unimportant - normally Crysanth only made the effort of inter-Stel travel to personally bargain over entire _worlds_.

“It’s not. Or it wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for the fact that Orion is trying to secretly outbid us. They’ve grown far too complacent over recent years, too settled, too content with their own power. They need a reminder of who they are dealing with.”

Her eyes don’t shine with passion, but they do glint with an unnerving confidence. She does not mean Kesh as a whole, she does not even mean the Curtain. She means herself. She continues. “We will find the enemy agent, and if necessary, you will remove them.”

He bristles at the implication. Crysanth is assuming too much. “I’m an advisor, not a weapon for you to wield.”

“Of course not. _Weapon_ implies violence is the only job you’re used for. No, Immunity. In my hands, you are a scalpel. Precise, perhaps deadly, but a necessary tool for the removal of a poisoned bullet from the body of our empire.”

It hadn’t been difficult, these past years, to guess what she thought of him. He’s advised people before who had thought of him nothing more than a tactical advantage, a useful guide that would recite the winning strategy when consulted. But Crysanth is the first one who has ever dared state her view of him as a tool to be used so casually.

He can’t even be offended, not really, when he knows she sees everyone in the galaxy as disposable assets, barely differentiated by their level of usefulness. 

A different tactic, perhaps, is required. “I don’t think this meeting requires you to take this kind of risk—”

She cuts him off without ceremony. “Sovereign Immunity, if I want your opinion, do not fear. I will ask for it.”

Not an unexpected response. He still doesn’t let it affect him. Most of his life had been spent trying to cajole nobles into listening to and respecting him, but sometimes he felt like he was starting from zero with them every single day. “I don’t know why you bother having a Sovereign Immunity at all if you’re going to ignore me, Lady Kesh.”

“At a certain time in one’s career, it’s expected. Lends a certain gravitas.”

His estimation of her opinion was gravely wrong, he realises. He’s not even an asset - he’s an _accessory_. Anger does finally stir at that - more at the disrespect to his order and their lives’ work than at the personal slight.

She glances up when he doesn’t reply and continues, having noted his displeasure and pointedly ignored it. “There are specifics you don’t know about.”

He’d suspected as much. Despite himself, irritation leaks into his voice. “You _cannot_ have secrets from me, not if I’m going to do my job with any kind of efficacy. There should be no secrets between a Sovereign Immunity and their handler. It’s more than just a business partnership.”

Immediately, he regrets the tone, the wording. Emotion was one of Crysanth’s favourite reasons to dismiss an argument.

“Partnership?” She chuckles, amused. “No, Sovereign Immunity. You don’t need to know the specifics to listen and do as you’re told.”

He laughs, disbelief straining his throat. “I’m not your servant—”

“No. But for now, you _are_ my employee.”

And that is that, it seems. She turns away to a pile of papers, uninterested in any response he might have to make. In the safety of being out of her line of sight, Sovereign Immunity allows himself a small eye roll. It was better, sometimes, to let them think they had won. His pride could take it.  
  


* * *

  
And so, they fly.

It takes nine days, all told, including the time it takes them to reach and pass through the Portcullis and Orion’s Space. They are long, boring days. Crysanth sequesters herself in her rooms, and when Sovereign Immunity knocks in the mornings, he does not receive an answer.

_If I want your opinion, do not fear. I will ask for it._

On the fourth day, Sovereign Immunity does not bother even making the attempt, and tries to ignore the uneasy, useless feeling it leaves him with. Never before had he been so thoroughly ignored while on assignment. He suspects it’s punishment, a petty show of power so Crysanth can try to instill upon him the behaviour she expects from her pet advisor.

It’s laughably obvious, childish even, and he’s surprised she’s resorted to it with him. He’s had to put up with far worse from nobles before, after all. There’s no reason it should bother him in the least. And yet he finds himself aimlessly anxious, pacing around the ship and trying to anticipate as many wildly different scenarios for the negotiations as he can with only the barest hints of context. When he tires of that, his mind instead imagines her writing a letter to take to the Order, insinuations about his inability to be useful, his lack of input on strategy.

Even Crysanth Kesh could not completely ruin his reputation with a single letter, but he has always prided himself on being good at his job. The idea bothers him more than he would like.

He reads the few articles and books he has downloaded from the Palace, he does his calisthenics exercises, he reads some more. He paces the ship, until he realises Crysanth will be able to hear him passing outside her door, and then he paces his room instead.

Sovereign Immunity tries to think of it as a vacation, and even partially succeeds.  
  


* * *

  
Catarine is a small, icy planet with short days and long nights year round. Outside, frost glitters on every surface, but the buildings are kept warm enough that short sleeves and dresses are the norm. It’s an Orion-controlled planet; technically neutral grounds for this business meeting between Kesh and Nideo, though in reality it just means they have a interested third party that, for the sake of propriety, they’re all pretending isn’t there.

Crysanth greets him only with a brisk nod when she comes out of her rooms, like nothing is any different. Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps he had been overreacting. But he feels a grain of envy when he looks at her properly, that she could so easily remain unaffected, not just in this but in all things. Nothing affected her without her permission. That was how royalty _worked_. She has never had to give anything up that she hadn’t wanted to, has never had to wait on the whims of someone above her.

With effort, Sovereign Immunity puts it out of his mind.

They’re greeted from their ship by a tall woman wearing an understated, forest green uniform. Between her Orion accent and her obviously forced enthusiasm, she must be a staff member of the hotel they’ve booked.

“Lady Kesh, and with a Sovereign Immunity no less,” she says, her eyes running over him only long enough to recognise his robes of office before he’s ignored again. _Accessory_ , he thinks bitterly. “It’s an honour to welcome you to the Hotel Reprise! Of course, the Nidean assembly reserved the penthouse suite for you. Only the best for our royal guests!”

“Thank you... Miss.” Crysanth looks polite as ever, but he sees the irritation in the sideways flick of her eyes, at not rating a personal welcome from the Nidean negotiators.

“Ethwood, Breccia Ethwood. I’m your personal attendant for your time here. Please let me know if there’s anything you need, anything at all I can do to make your stay a better experience.”

“Yes… Thank you, Ethwood. We’ll see the suite immediately. It’s been a long journey.”

She bows and presents Crysanth with a single keycard.

“That’ll be all.” Crysanth takes it and sweeps past, leaving a crestfallen Ethwood in her wake.

“ _Thank you_ ,” whispers Sovereign Immunity as he edges past her to follow.

The suite is exactly as large and ostentatious as he expects it to be. The only things out of the ordinary are the luxury product catalogues dotted around from the hotel’s current business sponsors and the surprising amount of chrome detailing. Orion sensibilities, of course.

The balcony to their suite has a cover, to keep away any snow, but still it is bitterly cold. Crysanth stands out there watching over the gardens while he unpacks, her arms resting on the balcony, a long, tightly wrapped fur coat the only sign of her discomfort. Even Cruciat, enmeshed in the northern tundras of Partizan, did not get this cold in the depths of winter.

When he stops at the balcony door, reluctant to leave the warmth of the suite, she turns and raises a questioning eyebrow. A small beckoning motion of her head makes it clear she’s expecting him outside. 

He goes. Perhaps she finally wants to discuss her strategy for tomorrow. He can’t help but find the thought unlikely.

He’s proven right when she does not speak. Instead, she brings out a packet of cigarettes, which is a surprise. She smokes so rarely he would almost forget she did at all, were it not for the lighter he keeps tucked in an inside pocket of his robes. Without ceremony, she plucks one from the packet and then holds the pack back out to him.

He steps forward on instinct and takes it from her. 

“May I?” he asks.

Crysanth nods once, the smallest motion. He takes one for himself, puts it between his lips and leans in to her, sparking the lighter until it catches alight. The flame licks at their cigarettes and she watches him through it, mouth curled up at the edge in something akin to a smile.

He only does this with her. A terrible habit he’d absorbed from her, over the years they’ve spent together. There’s a metaphor somewhere in it, Sovereign Immunity thinks. He dreads to imagine what else he might pick up from her, over the years to come.

The smoke curls around the angular planes of her face as Crysanth keeps her eyes on his. She’s observing him, he realises, studying him like she would any of her enemies. But he’s used to that, so he lets her see his facial expression go blandly pleasant, his body language relaxing until he’s standing like an untrained civilian. She tilts her head and gives him a faintly sardonic smile in return, an acknowledgement both that he’s caught her at it, and that he called her out on it.

It feels like an unspoken joke between them, a conversation they don’t even need to have out loud through their growing years of familiarity. Sovereign Immunity is almost surprised by the feeling of ease that comes along with it, before he’s rationalising it away - his assignment to Kesh is the longest he’s had yet. It’s no wonder that he’s growing… comfortable with all of it.

With her.

She glances away, finally, and it’s like a sudden pressure off his chest. He takes a full drag of his cigarette and lets the warm harshness of the smoke in his lungs bring his thoughts back away from sentiment.  
  


* * *

  
The next day breaks early, icicle-bright and blinding.

He had expected Crysanth to be working when he woke, but she’s only out on the balcony again, watching the sunrise glitter over frost and then scatter over the ice of the lake. It’s the most tranquil setting that Sovereign Immunity has ever seen her in. And it’s _jarring_ , more than anything, watching as she puts a hand up to shade her eyes against the slowly rising sun. Crysanth was not made to be resting, in quiet peace at dawn. She belonged in boardrooms and ballrooms, in conversations where she played with the lives of millions without a second thought.

When he can’t stand the dissonance any longer, he knocks at the balcony door. She waves an imperious, dismissive hand in his direction without turning, and some of the discomfort fades. That was more familiar ground.

A letter is slipped under the door. It’s hotel-marked stationary that looks oddly like the words have been stamped on.

_Izah Belline and hir associates will meet you in the Imperium Boardroom at 10am._

Belline is slight, dressed in layers of pale formal jackets that completely fail at giving hir any illusion of mass, but that contrast well against hir dark brown skin. There’s a determination in hir eyes that belies the barest tremble of hir hands as they all shake. Ze is a competent negotiator from what Sovereign Immunity has heard, but Crysanth is well known as one of Kesh’s most potent weapons, and her royal reputation only makes her more intimidating.

The boardroom itself is spacious and full of various business testimonials praising the wonders of the facility. Were it not for the over-sized sculptures of Imperium in all four corners of the room, it would be tasteful, but as it is, Sovereign Immunity is half-expecting the Song of Catarine to appear and give a sermon.

They get down to business, and then time begins to drag.

Sovereign Immunity doesn’t find meetings boring, especially political negotiations thinly disguised as business deals. They’re vital parts of his vocation, and if they were boring he wouldn’t be paying them the full attention he needs to.

For the most part though, they are all… similar. 

_Extremely_ similar.

Specific minutiae of terms are argued over for agonisingly long periods of time. People bluster, and threaten, and sometimes even plead. In the end, none of the people in the room have anything more than their reputation on the line, while the populations of the Stels are traded back and forth from one terrible situation to another.

He prefers a pen and paper to Crysanth’s datapad for making notes. Every few minutes, he taps a code out to her on the desk, the sounds of Kesh ideograms passed between them on the fabricated whorls of the table.

The Nidean negotiators aren’t stupid. They know that they’re communicating silently, but it would be far more of a faux pas for them to point it out. Instead they exchange uncomfortable looks between themselves, and try to badger them into committing to terms immediately, trying not to give them time to discuss.

This is not his and Crysanth’s first time doing this, though. He identifies points of attack and Crysanth presses them, a seamless operation that has him playing the more reasonable negotiator to her hardline demands. 

A couple of hours in, and Crysanth has convinced Belline that the land holdings Nideo will be getting are more valuable than they are. They’re on track to get the information for less than originally planned, and he’s looking forward to getting out of this dreary room. He can see the shores of the icy lake next to the path outside the window, taunting him with the promise of fresh air and freedom.

There’s a knock at the door and an audibly annoyed silence falls over the room.

“Yes?” Crysanth answers after a beat, and Belline slowly closes hir mouth where ze’d been about to speak.

The hotel attendant comes in with a tray, cold cuts and cheese and fruits and sauces laid out with flowers. Sovereign Immunity narrows his eyes at her. “Complimentary snacks, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, thank you Ethwood, just put them down there,” Crysanth said, already distracted. Of course she wouldn’t notice anything unusual with being given free food. But he had read the hotel guide the night before, and it had _clearly_ stated that food was not included in the price.

Ethwood leans over Belline to put the tray on the table, and her free arm moves suspiciously behind hir.

Sovereign Immunity stands immediately and Crysanth’s head whips up to look at him. “We’re not finished, Immunity,” she hisses.

He ignores her, locks eyes with Ethwood and she backs away, hand going to her pocket. That’s all the confirmation he needs to break into a run but she’s already out the door, and distantly he hears Belline shout.

When Crysanth had said Orion was going to try to _outbid_ them, this was not what he had thought she meant.

She’s quick, and light on her feet, but she’s also clearly not been doing this long. The sloppy, obvious execution continues when he realises she barely even has a getaway plan other than ‘run’. Unconsciously her hand is settled over a pocket of her coat as she runs, giving away where she’d stashed what was presumably a small thumb drive.

Amateur or not, Sovereign Immunity quickly realises that she can and will outrun him given half a chance. That’s why, when she darts through a door to get outside, a frantic mental calculation means he opts to launch himself straight through the window next to it to grab her. They both go down ungracefully in the shards of glass, but she’s kicking and flailing and he gets a knee to the chest as he tries to grab the drive out of her pocket.

Despite Crysanth’s original implications, he has no intention of killing her. Even when she brings a knife out from inside her jacket and slashes wildly with it, he ducks and drives a hand into her elbow. Something crunches and she chokes back a scream, but he refuses to feel bad about non-lethal injuries in self defense.

Injured and visibly panicking, Ethwood scrabbles to get up and away but he has the presence of mind to hold onto the fabric of her coat. Predictably the pocket rips away, and they both collapse again as the tension releases.

The drive itself is small and unassuming, a sleek reflective silver that’s easy to spot as it goes flying through the air towards the frozen lake.

There’s no critical thought that goes into the action, which will embarrass him when he looks back on it later. Panic pushes him forward, because this is what Crysanth had come for, so instinctively he lunges for it as it skitters over the ice.

The temperature outside is well below freezing, but the water of the hotel’s lakes and water features are too chemically treated to be able to freeze completely. A smaller, slighter figure stepping carefully out onto the ice might have gotten away with it - as it is, Sovereign Immunity gets his fingers around the drive, then the rest of his body hits the ice and crashes straight through.

The water bites down hard on every inch of his body, the agony hitting his senses before even the cold does. It feels like daggers in every pore, and his limbs are already leaden with cold and the weight of the water on his robes.

An instinctual and all consuming terror hits as he sinks into the dark, lungs already screaming for air. He has no idea how deep the lake is, but when he doesn’t hit the bottom after a few seconds it becomes apparent that he cannot rely on it to be able to get himself out.

Centering himself takes a long moment, disassociating himself from the pain and the panic until he can think clearly. Light streams through the water and he orients himself to it, kicking until he breaks through the surface and tries to breathe rather than choke on the water, or hyperventilate, or pass out like his body wants to.

With an immense amount of effort, he drags himself onto the ice. The air burns at his exposed skin immediately, torturous in its intensity. Running on instinct, he rolls carefully away from the hole, back to solid ground. Dazed and panting on his back, Sovereign Immunity silently sends his thanks to the training instructors of his youth for putting him through so many survival scenarios he had thought were overkill at the time.

There’s shouting from the Nidean dignitaries, who are crowding around him and Ethwood but Crysanth waves them all away as she steps through them with ease. 

“It’s finished. Go get him a doctor,” she says, sounding more exasperated than— well, what had he been expecting? Relief? Worry?

She crouches down next to him and takes his hand, dripping wet, shaking with cold, to bring it to her mouth. He barely feels the touch as she presses her lips to it in a mockery of a kiss, and meets his eyes. There’s no trace of gratitude in her gaze, only a quickly-fading surprise, swiftly replaced by amusement.

It hits him then, through the fogginess clouding his thoughts that he recognises as his body finally going into shock. She didn’t _care_ about the drive _._ She hadn’t wanted it back at all.

“Thank you for your service, Sovereign Immunity.”

And then she painfully peels open his fingers, one by one, so that he’s forced to drop it into her waiting hand.

“We’re leaving.”  
  


* * *

  
Crysanth forces the medical team to bring him back to their ship to warm up - for her own peace of mind, she says - and after two hours they declare him fully recovered from his _little_ _dip_ , as one of them so condescendingly put it. Perhaps physically he’s fine, but the memory of being swallowed up by the agony and the cold and the dark still leaves Sovereign Immunity suppressing a shiver when he’s abandoned to sit by himself in the common area.

His thoughts are interrupted by the muted beat of Crysanth’s heels in the corridor. When she enters, she gives him a nod.

“Your Majesty,” he manages as she sweeps by him to go to a cupboard in what passes for the shared kitchen on the small dropship. Crysanth has little problem with a transport that’s more surreptitious and functional than beautiful, at least.

Everything aches, and he’s not really in the mood to verbally spar with her. “I was hoping, with the extenuating circumstances, that you would not need me for the rest of the day.”

“I’m not working right now.” A lie. Crysanth didn’t believe in time off. The Principality was her life and in return, her life was the Principality’s. “And neither are you.”

She sets a glass down on the table by his side before seating herself opposite. He can already smell it - grappa, sweetened with honey. Not his preference, but then again, it’s not his ship.

A silence settles over them as she scrolls her Palace datapad and sips at her drink, seemingly perfectly content. The longer he looks at her, relaxed and completely untouched by the events of the day, the angrier and more used he feels. Again, he had been reduced to little more than a pawn on her chessboard.

“If you want something, Byron, you should ask for it.” She doesn’t even bother looking up.

He knows that. Sovereign Immunity knows she will not give him anything until he admits to wanting it. Crysanth never offers, never gives even the smallest answer freely unless he asks directly, thereby tacitly admitting that he needs her, in whatever tiny way. 

In the beginning, he had considered it an almost boringly obvious power move. Now he suspects she doesn’t even think of it that way, doesn’t consciously use it as such. It’s just how she is.

He takes a sip of his drink, to delay. Forcing her to wait usually got her attention, and it works again now. It’s predictable when she glances up at him, irritated, but her gaze is sharp as ever. A knife constantly trained on him. 

When he speaks, his voice is perfectly neutral. “So. You didn’t need the drive?”

“No. One of my agents sent me most of the information we were getting weeks ago. Some new exploratory committee wanting to venture into the unexplored branch of the galaxy. Interesting certainly, but I don’t think they’re going to do much in the long term.”

“Then…” A sigh works its way out of him. “You knew that the spy would go after Nideo.”

“They were the only party who would be foolish enough to show up with something physical that could be stolen. All I ever need to bring with me is a signature.” A small shrug. “Showing Stel Nideo that they could not even keep themselves secure against a no-name Orion spy was more valuable than the data. But you managed to retrieve that as well, which was a pleasant surprise. Kept up the façade.” Crysanth tilts her glass to him in a mocking toast.

He’s silent for a long moment. “This can’t happen again. If you had let me in on your plan—”  
  
“Why would I? It all worked perfectly.”

“ _Despite_ my not knowing. Not because of it. I would rather not risk my life unnecessarily again.”

She smirks against the rim of her glass. “But you put on such a good _show_ for me, Byron.”

Sovereign Immunity glares at her, too exhausted by all of it - by her - to keep his reactions under control. “My job is my life, as much as yours is. I’m a Sovereign Immunity, there should be no question of trust or efficiency. The more I know, the more I can do for you.”

“Very well.”

That sounds enough like a concession that it throws him off guard. “Lady Kesh?”

She tuts. “I think you can manage a _Crysanth_ now of all times, Byron.”

“ _Crysanth_.” He over enunciates it as she did, and ignores the discomfort that comes along with addressing her by her personal name for the first time. Another professional line between them blurring.

“You’re correct. You proved yourself an asset even without my direct orders. I think I can trust you enough to loosen the leash a little,” says Crysanth, nails tapping a discordant rhythm on the side of her glass. “Don’t choke yourself with it, now.”  
  


* * *

  
Sovereign Immunity remembers those words years later, when he first becomes the Farmer, standing on Collier and helping set up their first base camp. Walking away from Crysanth had not been so difficult, in the end. Not when he could see the damage her regime was doing to the farmers working under the Kesh rule there. He wonders whether she had always been able to see it, his potential for disloyalty. Had he always been so transparent, or had she pushed him to it in time?

He remembers them later again when she first sees him in the prison, her face a glacial mask. The best expression she had for when she had to actually work to appear unaffected. It’s odd, the way it makes him relieved for a moment, that he had done something she hadn’t expected. There had been nights, lying awake, where he had worried that he was playing into her traps, somehow, that she had always wanted a rebellion and a figurehead to crush.

Betrayed by her own Sovereign Immunity… The potential of the sympathetic angle was almost a gift for her, he was sure.

No doubt she was playing it that way now, but for a moment he sees the fury and the honest-to-god hurt in her eyes, for the briefest moment. No. She hadn’t wanted such a thing from him at all.

It’s the first time he’s had the upper hand on her, but Sovereign Immunity swears it will not be the last.


End file.
